


Steal a Horse, Steal a Heart

by tumbleweedfarm



Series: Stolen Things [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Bokuto is whipped IMMEDIATLEY, First Meetings, I armed Yaku with a dish towel and released him, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Truth or Dare, farm boy akaashi, kind of crack, screw a meet-cute gimme meet-CRIME, the horse theft au literally no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbleweedfarm/pseuds/tumbleweedfarm
Summary: Truth or dare usually ends before anything drastic happens. But tonight is no ordinary night.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Stolen Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099472
Comments: 30
Kudos: 100





	Steal a Horse, Steal a Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is. This is crack. Mostly. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Bokuto never needs alcohol to make bad decisions, but it sure does speed things along.

Honestly, he’s only one drink in. The negligible amount of alcohol in his system is just the cover-up for the real reason behind Bokuto’s questionable decision-making skills: his friends. 

The Black Cat, a small but lively bar on the outskirts of town, has seen it’s fair share of Bokuto’s mishaps. It doesn’t help that Bokuto and his best friend and biggest enabler, Kuroo, own the place. It’s a lot easier to make a mess when you won’t get kicked out. Well, Yaku had booted both Bokuto and Kuroo from the building one night, but they’re pretty sure he and Kenma had just wanted some quiet. 

The bar is covered in evidence (“memories,” as Kuroo calls them) of their past escapades. A hole Bokuto accidentally punched in the drywall from a traumatic cockroach incident, covered by a picture of the hilariously grumpy face Yaku had pulled afterward. The giant scratch in the red paint from the time they had attempted to redecorate, but ended up dropping a small couch down the stairs. 

The underside of the bar houses an impressive collection of the stickers from the lemons Kenma buys. The neon cat sign over the door has one eye out. The upstairs couch is missing a leg, held up by the bartending books Kenma and Yaku have memorized. 

It’s messy and perfect and theirs. What’s a little more chaos? 

Tonight, though, Bokuto is determined to have a simple, enjoyable evening with his friends. Two drinks, he said. He’ll be gone by eleven, he said. 

Then, Kuroo utters the very words that incite the most chaotic of evenings, “Truth or dare?” 

It starts out innocent, really. Bokuto tells the story of his popped fly during a presentation. Kuroo eats half a lemon, and everyone pretends not to notice the little smile on Kenma’s face. Yaku downs a shot of hot sauce. 

But, like most nights at the Black Cat, it was doomed from the start. Unlike most nights, it’s Kenma that opens the floodgates.

“Kenma!” Kuroo calls from over the rim of his glass, “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Kuroo’s glass hits the counter so abruptly that Bokuto worries it might shatter. Yaku freezes, dish towel in a white-knuckle grip. Even the neon sign seems to stop buzzing for a moment. 

“Who are you, and what have you done with Kenma?” Yaku flicks the end of the towel at Kenma’s shoulder. 

Kenma shrugs. “I can pick truth, if you want.”

“Wait, wait!” Kuroo flails, snapped out of his shock. “Uh, I dare you to…um-”

“Take your time.” Kenma sighs. He picks up a second towel and starts wiping the counter down.

Bokuto laughs, hearty and laced with the memories of Kuroo’s late night lamenting over his soft-spoken bartender. He’d heard enough half-poems about the specific way Kenma’s hair falls after a long shift to know that Kuroo’s brain is probably on fire.

“I dare you to kiss your favorite person in the room!” Kuroo shouts, train of thought suddenly back on the track. 

Kenma’s eyes glint with a terrifying mix of amusement and spite. “Okay. Yaku, come here.”

Bokuto’s hair nearly flattens from the force of Kuroo deflating.

“Absolutely not.” Yaku holds his towel up in front of his face. Despite the hostility, he can’t help but laugh, just a little. Bokuto joins in, filling the bar with tipsy joy. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bokuto catches Kenma press a kiss to his fingertips and touch them to Kuroo’s nose. 

“Kuroo,” Bokuto cries, “If you get any redder, you’ll blend into the wall.”

“Okay-“ He squeaks, then clears his throat. “Okay! Next!”

With the dam of expectations broken, and the second drink of the night blending pink into Bokuto’s cheeks, the game continues.

Kenma dares Yaku to do a handstand on the bar. On an unrelated note, Bokuto and Kuroo learn that Yaku can, in fact, do handstands, and wonder what led Kenma to that information before them. Bokuto buys a drink for the oldest person in the bar, a sweet old lady who was very impressed with the aforementioned handstand. Kenma finally makes Kuroo admit to getting his head stuck in his high school locker. Yaku forces everyone to drink a mystery concoction from the blender that tasted suspiciously like Bloody Mary cocktail and onion.

At this point, the game would usually end. They always have fun, but they also know when to pump the brakes. They have yet to cause any serious damage to the bar or themselves, and no one is looking to start tonight.

But Kuroo, fueled by vodka and Kenma’s indirect kiss, slams one last dare onto the table.

“Bo, I dare you to steal a horse.”

“Kuroo, with all due respect, which is none,” Yaku sighs, eyes closed. “What the fuck?”

Bokuto snorts. “I’m gonna second that, Kuroo. What do you mean, steal a horse?” 

“That farm half a mile down the road. We get a lot of the riders in here, remember?” Kuroo swirls his drink around as he speaks. “Grab a horse, walk it back here, then return it.”

Kenma plucks the glass out of Kuroo’s hands. “Isn’t it a little early in the night for crime punishable by law?”

“It’s midnight! That’s crime time, Kenma,” Kuroo waves his hand, as if it should have been obvious, “Besides, what would they even charge you with?”

“Theft, Kuroo! Trespassing, at the least!” Yaku half shouts, “It’s not like Bokuto could steal a horse, anyway.”

And aren’t those just the magic words?

“I’m gonna steal a horse.” Bokuto declares, standing upright and turning for the door. 

“You are not going to steal a horse.” Kenma says, with enough conviction that Bokuto almost sits right back down. But Yaku’s (probably logical) words float through his head again, and he’s already out of the building.

Bokuto is a smart man. Well, okay, he’s twenty three and not dead yet, so that has to count for something. It’s not his fault that Kenma and Yaku absorb every ounce of sense he and Kuroo have as soon as they all enter the bar. 

Now that he’s away from his friends and taking in the cool night air, he allows himself to think that maybe, this isn’t the best idea. Even the cicadas and crickets in the underbrush seem to be screaming at Bokuto to go back to the bar. But his pride is at stake, and Bokuto has always been willing to try anything at least once.

Property theft is probably going to be an “only once” kind of thing.

It might not be that bad, after all. It’s a clear and beautiful night in their rural town, no cars in sight. Bokuto likes horses fine enough. And, it’s only a couple miles in total walking distance. Night walks are nice, even if he will have a horse for half of it. He picks up his feet a little higher, and trudges on.

He reaches the farm in no time, fresh air clearing his head and the promise of proving someone wrong propelling him along. It’s pretty in the moonlight, with rolling green hills leading up to a small collection of buildings. From where Bokuto can see, it looks like the stables. Even further down sits a small house and a barn.

Bokuto takes a deep breath and considers his plan. The first obstacle is the fence. Easy enough. He cracks his knuckles and props a foot up on one of the bars, and hauls himself over. 

With the lack of immediate consequences, Bokuto charges up the first hill. The grass feels good under his shoes, and the full moon lights his way. A dirt path makes itself known, leading directly to what appears to be the stables. 

The smell hits before Bokuto can reach them. As well-kept as the farm itself is, no one can escape horse manure. Along with the smell comes the realization that he is, in fact, about to steal a large animal. A large animal that does not belong to him. That would be the stealing part.

But he has a point to prove and a horse to steal, so he leaves his sense of dignity and smell behind him.

The stable entrance is a wide, open archway, leading into relative darkness. The moon and what little light the nearby lamps provide don’t reach far enough. As carefully as he can, Bokuto swipes at the wall for a switch. Blessedly, one makes itself known.

When the lights flip on, Bokuto gets a full view of the stables. Five stalls line either side, mostly empty. The latches on the stall doors don’t have locks. Man, they should really consider getting some. Someone could steal one of the horses.

Oh, yeah.

Bokuto makes his way to one of the stalls at the end of the line, where a relatively small horse is snuffling at some food. 

“Hey, there. Or should I say hay there?” Bokuto muses. The horse doesn’t laugh. He decides not to hold that against it and reaches for the latch.

In that moment, three things happen.

First, the horse goes haywire. Second, Bokuto mentally high-fives himself for another fantastic hay pun. Third, and probably most importantly, a voice calls out.

“What are you doing?”

Bokuto freezes. The latch is open in his hand, door ready to open. There’s no way to play this off any other way, and Bokuto has never been one for cunning, so he approaches it the only way he knows how.

Without turning to look at the source of the voice, he says, “Um…stealing a horse?”

“There are…so many reasons I can’t let you do that.” The voice is nearly unreadable, so Bokuto turns around to see just how much shit he’s dug himself into.

Holy shit. 

Suddenly, Bokuto would believe it if angels wore sweatpants and old t-shirts. He lays eyes on a man about his age, with sleep-mussed hair and sharp eyes. They’d probably be softer in a different scenario, but Bokuto puts that to the side.

“Yeah,” He breathes. “There sure are.” 

The horse seems to settle at the arrival of Bokuto’s wildest dreams. Unfortunately, that leaves him to stand in complete silence, staring. He reaches up to scratch at his head.

“Wait!” The man yells, surging forward. “Don’t let her out!”

Oh, shit. He dropped the latch. Bokuto’s hand darts back to the stall. It seems like a good plan, until the other man’s hands do the same, cupping over Bokuto’s on the cold steel. Bokuto decides to never trust one of his own plans again.

“Um,” The man begins. Bokuto makes the horrible (wonderful) mistake of turning toward his voice. Up close, his eyes are like emeralds. Little pieces of dark hair brush over fair skin. “I’m gonna have to ask you to, um. Leave.”

“Right!” Bokuto says, probably too loudly. He makes no move to go. 

The man takes Bokuto’s hand in both of his own and pulls it away from the latch. His movements are gentle, much more so than would be expected of such a situation. Bokuto thinks, just briefly, that he sees the smallest hint of a blush. 

“So I’ll be, um,” Bokuto completes the monumental task of separating their hands. He’s a little colder now. “I’ll be going.”

“I would recommend it.” The man smirks. God, Bokuto wants to make that happen again. 

He starts for the entrance to the stables. He really should just high tail it out of there. But his, admittedly flawed, instincts tell him to turn back around. Something about the man who could very easily send him to prison is messing with him. Well, what’s one more potential disaster?

“Hey,” Bokuto starts, with all the courage he can muster up, “This was all on a dare. And I can’t go back to my friends without stealing something. So, come with me?”

“I don’t even know your name.” The man states, like it’s the most glaring flaw he can see in Bokuto’s logic. 

“Bokuto Koutarou.” If this were any other night, with any other man, maybe Bokuto would have thought twice about giving his full name to a stranger. A stranger that just caught him trespassing. But it is this night, with this man, and Bokuto wants him to have it.

“You don’t know mine.”

“I won’t until you give it to me,” Bokuto shrugs. “Wait, wait, that was really pushy, I’m sorry-“

“Akaashi Keiji,” The man says, smooth and easy. The name burns itself in Bokuto’s chest. “You tried to steal my horse.”

Ah, there it is. No way around that. “I sure did!”

Akaashi’s eyes widen and his mouth quirks back up. Somehow, that’s more satisfying than any dare he could complete. 

“I…won’t do it again?”

Akaashi squints and crosses his arms. Bokuto can practically smell Akaashi’s brain smoking. Wait, that’s horse manure. This may not have been the best idea.

“Okay.” Akaashi shrugs.

“Okay?”

“I’ll go with you.”

Never mind. This is the best idea Bokuto’s ever had.

“Great! You’re gonna love my friends. Well, you’ll like Kenma-“

“Bokuto-san.” The name fits in Akaashi’s mouth like it was meant to be there. Bokuto blames his shiver on the night air.

“Yeah?” 

“I’m in my pajamas.” 

“Ah!” Bokuto sighs. “Here!”

Now, if this were any other night, with any other man, Bokuto would think twice about what he does next. But it is this night, with this man, and Bokuto has left his inhibitions at the bar. He shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and hands it over.

“Oh,” Akaashi’s eyes widen again. “Alright.”

Bokuto is sure it’s a blush this time. He wonders what he has to do to make it happen again. The jacket is a little big on Akaashi, and Bokuto’s fluttering heart threatens to stop.

Akaashi turns the stable lights off and follows Bokuto back down the dirt path. God, he looks even prettier in the moonlight. Fireflies dot the way back to the main road, making the night feel even more dream-like.

“I apologize for yelling,” Akaashi sighs after a moment. “That horse is young. She likes escaping whenever she has the chance.”

Bokuto laughs. “I broke into your stables. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Indeed. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about that.” For a moment, Bokuto’s stomach drops, until he sees the tiny smile that’s returned to Akaashi’s face.

“How can I ever make it up to you?” Bokuto teases. It’s easy, with Akaashi.

“You can start with buying me a drink. A stiff one.”

“That, I can do.”

The rest of the walk back to the bar is pleasantly quiet. Bokuto had never thrived in quiet environments before, but Akaashi makes it simple. The gravel crunching under their feet and the crickets in the grass weaves into a little song that Bokuto feels like dancing to. 

Considering the circumstances, Bokuto should not be smiling like an idiot. His heart should not be soaring, and he should not be full of fondness for a man he barely knows. But Bokuto really, really doesn’t care.

“We’re here!” Bokuto shouts as they reach the front door. He holds the door open for Akaashi. The bar is mostly empty by now, with only the staff and a couple regulars still in the building.

“Bokuto, I swear, if you brought back a damn horse-“ Yaku scolds, already stomping toward the door, dish towel at the ready. He stops when he sees Akaashi. “Oh. My bad.”

“It’s fine.” Akaashi pulls Bokuto’s jacket further around him. It really shouldn’t give Bokuto butterflies. “For the record, he made a valiant effort.”

Bokuto can see every potential question, accusation, and curse that Yaku has prepared, but he’s cut off by a much more sober-sounding Kuroo. “Bo, we said being back a horse.”

“WE didn’t say SHIT.” Yaku flings the towel at Kuroo’s head. 

Bokuto looks back at Akaashi, who now looks even prettier under the neon sign. Man, Bokuto is gonna have to get his head checked after tonight.

“Please don’t ask me to start neighing. This evening is strange enough already.” Akaashi deadpans. 

Kuroo howls from his seat at the bar. “Bo, oh my god, we need this story right now.”

Bokuto waves Akaashi over to the bar, where Kenma is pulling out a fifth glass. “Akaashi, this is Kenma. That’s Kuroo.” 

Kuroo winks. Kenma flicks him in the forehead. 

“And that’s Yaku!” Bokuto points over to the second bartender. “Everyone, this is Akaashi! I tried to steal his horse!”

“At least he got your jacket in return.” Yaku mutters. That tiny blush reappears on Akaashi’s cheeks. Bokuto really, really wants to kiss them.

Wow, he’s in deep shit.

Kenma pours a generous glass of amber liquor and slides it across the bar. “Here. You’ll need this. On the house.”

“You were right, Bokuto-san. I like him.” Akaashi takes a sip of his drink. Kuroo laughs from deep in his chest. 

“I wouldn’t laugh, Kuroo. You’re the house.” Yaku interjects.

“Oh, this is so worth it.” Kuroo leans forward on his elbows. “So, Akaashi, how the hell did Bo manage to get you down here?”

Bokuto looks around at the little bar with the broken sign, the hole in the wall, and the scratch in the paint. He’s always loved it, cared for it since the beginning. But now, with Akaashi relaying the ridiculous story of the night, it feels a lot more whole.

**Author's Note:**

> I ended up kind of liking this fic help me.
> 
> Twitter: @tumbleweedfarm_


End file.
